What was originally supposed to be a show at Younge and Dundas Square turned into a mini outrage on twitter when the show was moved to this fairly small venue on Queen West. Half of the audience won tickets through lottery while the other half stood in line for two hours to get a wristband. And here’s the thing, everyone got one and the venue was still not at capacity, I guess all of the outraged people opted in for staying in that night.

As soon as the opening set started the audience begun turning to one another – “Who is this,” “Does anyone know this chick’s name?” – well kids, her name is Elliphant and yes, she’s pretty badass.

This Swedish wild-child, born Ellinor Olovsdotter, had recently dropped a new EP Look Like You Love It, via Mad Decent, very suitably, and TEN/Kemosabe, which includes collaborations with Diplo and Skrillex. That wildfire energy is immediately obvious on stage. One song at a time Elliphant took this audience by storm, converting them into fans in small patches.

To say that Elliphant is pop would be a huge misunderstanding. The complexity of her music takes roots in the genres of the world from moombahton to Jamaican-influenced “danskhall” sprinkled with dubstep and trap. This is a party and you will dance.

After a solid 40 minute set Elliphant and her DJ left the stage leaving the rest of us, ready to crump and crumble, to wait for M.I.A..

The stage was lightly decorated with what looked like a ferris wheel but was, probably, more of a shrine decoration with colourful lights taking turns in line with the beat. M.I.A., fashionably late, hidden under a hat and behind sunglasses came out on stage joined by two dancers in crop tops. One of the support dancers quickly became the star of the show taking half of the vocals, if not more, while M.I.A. kept on asking for her mic to be turned up with her unusually soft voice.

Every now and then the opening act takes the cake. Despite all of M.I.A.’s entertainment I’d say this was one of those shows where Elliphant carved her way into people’s iPods while M.I.A. reminded them why they don’t have much of her work in their music library.

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It used to be so simple. From the 1960s to the early ‘90s, the consensus among those concerned with the artistic merit was, if a band or songwriter ad-licenced their song they were a sell out, worthy of all the scorn The Village Voice could muster. In the 2000s, that train of thought is all but extinct.

Licencing music has become an accepted practice, with even The Village Voice asking in 2010, “Is It Possible to Sell Out?” After all, when beacons of artistic integrity, from Bob Dylan to Kurt Vile, are ad-licencing their songs, it does appear that the concept of “selling out” is a cultural relic, a symbol of a past generations’ ill-advised attempts at rebelling – like the trendy Chairman Mao pin.

A similar argument was made by author Hua Hsu on Grantland.com in his article “M.I.A. and Impossibility of Selling Out.”

However, isn’t selling out always possible as long as artists have moral and ethical beliefs? Selling out shouldn’t be a black and white, yes/no, issue but in the new age of music and advertising, selling out is harder to identify than it used to be.

In 1971, the average American was exposed to a little more than 550 advertisements per day, according to author David Shenk. The best estimates indicate that the average American is currently exposed to anywhere from 1,500 to over 3,000 ads daily. In 1971, college radio and alternative rock stations in urban centres were the primary source of new music for anyone in the counter culture.

In the last two years, well established and long running alternative rock stations have changed formats – to talk, gospel, or top-40 – in Orlando, New York City, Chicago, and Philadelphia, and a number of college radio stations have also been sold off.

With this new reality, no one can blame artists for ad-licencing their music. It’s become an accepted fact that advertisements provide much needed money and exposure for indie bands who would otherwise have very little of either.

You can credit/blame Moby for discovering the formula. His 1999 album “Play” was the most licenced album of all time, with all 18 tracks being used in a TV show, movie, or commercial, and in some instances all three. As his manager Eric Härler explained, they simply needed exposure because radio stations refused to play Moby’s music.

Getting exposure through ads worked better than anyone could’ve imagined, as “Play” became the best-selling techno album of all time and transformed Moby from cult DJ to global star. At the time Moby took a lot of flak of from fans and the music press for being a sell out. One fan even went so far as to sell Moby’s soul on eBay (Moby’s “soul” was an empty jar but you get his point).

It’s an argument that seems antiquated 13 years later, when we barely notice Civic using a Vampire Weekend song to sell cars. Derek Miller, song writer and one half of the indie duo  Sleigh Bells, summed up it best while discussing his

own band’s decision to licence the song “Rhythm Riot” for use in Honda’s commercial for a hybrid SUV. “The ‘sell out’ discussion never even happened, we happily license our music for movies and advertisements on a case-by-case basis,” Miller told the Boston edition of Metro newspaper. “It’s almost pretentious to avoid the opportunity, especially in this climate.”

It’s the “case-by-case basis” part of Miller’s statement that best explains the modern dilemma over selling out. What if, for example, Moby, a committed vegan and vocal supporter of PETA, had licenced his music to KFC (I’d suggest using “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad” to sell the Double Down)? Would that be selling out? The simple answer is yes.

That’s why when The Village Voices’ Zach Baron writes, “selling out has long since stopped existing as a meaningful concept,” he’s only partially right. He is right that selling out isn’t an all-encompassing fear for indie bands the way it used to be. But selling out is still possible and is still meaningful.

If a fervent anti-war band like Rage Against the Machine ad-licenced a song to war profiteer Halliburton, that would undoubtedly compromise their integrity. However, the same couldn’t be said for flag-waving, pro-war, country singer Toby Keith.

In essence, the debate over selling out should be less intellectually lazy than has often been the case. In the 2000s, saying “yes” to every company that comes knocking makes no more sense than saying “no” did in the 1990s.

Just because a bands’ views over right and wrong have changed – from the ‘60s-style “all capitalism is bad” to a more 2000s viewpoint of “I love me some Heinz ketchup but Hummer is a gas-sucking parasite” – doesn’t mean ethics don’t exist. And as long as they do exist, it is still possible to sell out.

Photo of Moby by Katy Baugh

The post The changing nature of selling out appeared first on Quip Magazine.